Archive for the 'dankkkkkkkk’s getting married' Category

Here’s Chapter 21 from R Kelly’s ridiculous masterpiece, Trapped in the Closet. I’m always late to the game, and this time is no different. Watch this shit, it is fucking NUTS.

***video edited OUT

Let me now turn to Dank. Dank, you are gay. Do not play with my emotions by saying you are getting married, and then be like, “Nu huh, jk.” Bitch, please. You are officially the gayest, and your youtube video doesn’t work still, shithead.

Now Roughty. Where the fuck you at, bitch? Seems like you’re not doing shit these days except whining about some bullshit or something. Get off your lazy drunk ass and make yourself useful.

Operation Bunghole has been derailed by Dank’s falsimonius proclamations of marriagehood. I repeat, what a fucking gay move Dank. I can give you some slack because you wrote that bullshit in the backend and Suit published it, and I guess we all “jumped to conclusions.” However, in the wake of my “what the hell are you thinking” post that I tried to make real nice and supportive, I feel embarrassed and exposed. Boo on you for being such a toolbox; I don’t even want to get into why I think you did it. I will try to let it go for now.

Anyway, Operation Bunghole was an initial raging success. The Ministers of Sound helped to set the mood, and the party was alright at first. However, soon afterwards the festive atmosphere was overshadowed by rumors of an engagement of one of the Stonies, which then turned out to be nothing but an offensive fantasy…

What did we achieve though, in just 4 days of strategic execution and nuggetocity?

For a second, I felt a little unity, a little camaraderie.

I soon realized that no one else was down with the BungOp, with no real response from my camp, or yours either.

Then, we had Dank’s gay bullshit.

I was made a fool, a sensitive sucker played by the hucksta.

Friday is here, I have to focus on better things.

Like all-day class on Saturday. Quantitative Methods/ Accounting.

Followed by Monday, estimated arrival time at work 5:10 AM.

From which point, I will commence planning and execution of my next event, Operation Fucknugget.

I don’t know where to begin. The beginning sounds OK. A prelude sounds even better. As such, I wish you success in your amorous endeavors, and would do nothing to compromise you, or to belittle you about something this serious.

I claim responsibility for introducing you to your lady-Queen, the LizNizzle. LizNiz was my smoking buddy, who also introduced me to the grandfather of this collection of savages, Falk. To say the very least, LizNiz was in the trenches with us from the beginning, and there is no denying that.

What can I say to you, or about you, after your semi-announcement? The most obvious thing is…”Are you serious?” No, I mean seriously think about it. I’m sure you are high as a kite right now, and that is good and fun. But are you really serious that you’re getting married in less than a year?

Then, after that question, I would ask another one to you. “Do you think it is a good idea?” Well…do you? The first question, only you can answer, but the second question….I think we all could add a lot to that discussion. I’m not going to though, because I haven’t figured out if you are serious or not.

I mean, if you are serious about getting married, does that mean you are engaged? Do you have a fiancé now?

Roughtonius is quick to tell me, “Leave them alone, they are happy.”

The thing is…I don’t have anything bad to say, or any “I wouldn’t do that if I were you…….” to tell you.

If I have anything to say, it’s, “Good luck, Dank and LizNiz.” Back in the day, the times got rough, we all turned ugly, and I, for one, hated everybody. Fuck off. But at the end of the day, we were all there together. Like I said, LizNiz was in the goddamn trenches with us, and by definition, that makes us homies.

I will not lie, or sugarcoat, the fact that I have cursed the LizNiz to Newport News and back. I take solace in the fact that I think she must have cursed me to PKT and back. I guess I’m just a little nervous, that I might have done a little more cursing than I should have, and that she might have done a little less cursing (if any at all) on her side.

At the end of the day, though, if I had to bet $500 on whether you would or wouldn’t, I’d put money down today that you would follow through, and marry your lady love. The Roundtable has all but dissolved, save this internet piece, and I don’t think a new version of Eric and Enede would come about. We have all grown up a lot since then, and the situation isn’t really the same.

Instead, we are now “in the real world.” Here I am at work, almost 2 years deep, doing the same goddamn shit everyday, and getting a full dose of what’s up with the what’s up if you want to eat some dinner tonight. Pete got his Masters and is working on his PhD (see: collecting female assistants). Roughty has managed to eek out 1 full year of college, in only 3 1/2 years….we are making progress.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I don’t have anything to say except for Good Luck. I do hope you get married, and I hope you propagate the world with sensitive little half-breeds, and I hope we’re all the better for it. I think we could be.

I’m getting married! And you’re all invited to the wedding. Against my better judgment i have decided to invite ye scolding scallywags and treacherous treachernators. Save the date of April 20 in our lord’s year of this one. Stoney, man-up and save some money cause you’re coming out. I’ll save two spots for you and your lady. The only requirement of this is that you sit on her lap because there is no way in hell that i am going to pay for two meals for you two. I know that you will not eat shit anyway and you’ll prolly be chin-strapped.

The planning has been underway. We are going to be married in Bruton Parish because we both love Williamsburg and as alumni of the great gay College of Wilma and Mary, we hope to return to the birthplace of our love. That means plenty of debaucherous tomfoolery and mcroughton face punches in the now celebrated style of yesteryear. Forgive me for not being up front with all of you, secrecy was of the utmost importance. I had to avoid getting drugged with a black bag over my head and ending up outside of the green zone in Baghdad by getting a full polygraph, fingerprinting, and rectal exam. Besides the familiar sore rectum, it was all pretty unusual and exciting.

None of you sluts are going to be the best man because it will undoubtedly destroy your faint hearts and monumental jealousy for my greatness. And so, i am assigning separate rolls. Stoney, you are most definitely not hte dj. This would be a gross miscalculation and would certainly lead to no dancing, horrible whiny music, and general unhappiness. And so, Suit, you are assigned the role………..